


sick again

by inkk



Series: patience [4]
Category: Guns N' Roses, Mötley Crüe
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk
Summary: Duff just blinks at him for a second, slightly unfocused, then slowly turns back around. His words sound hollow when he says, “You shouldn’t have come.”(a party. a punch not thrown. a conversation.)





	sick again

**Author's Note:**

> many, many thanks to nat @[ShadesinBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesinblue), who is the other half of this series.  
> ptw for alcohol & vomiting!  
> (...but then again, this is guns n’ roses, so really, what can you expect?)

When it comes to Izzy, Axl often finds himself thinking he should know better by now.

The first red flag should be the flyers he hands out on Thursday - printed sheets of paper with one of Slash’s stupid pen drawings of a tiger blown up on the front, the words _9PM SATURDAY @ IZZY’S PLACE_ listed overhead and nothing else.

“What,” Axl says blankly, staring at the paper after Izzy slides it across his desk in English.

“Saturday,” Izzy replies ominously. “Be there.”

Axl sighs. It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s wearing a knee-length leopard-print coat, leaning so far back in his chair he might as well be under the desk. “Is McKagan going?” he finally asks.

“Maybe,” Izzy says. His expression is next to unreadable from behind his sunglasses.

Really, that should be the second red flag right there.

 

+

 

By the time Axl eventually gives in and shows up on Saturday at ten-thirty, the party is in full swing. There’s a large crowd of people milling about the house, bobbing their heads to the loud music - mainly hipsters and art kids from the university in the next town over, but with a smattering of punks and jocks mixed in for good measure. Izzy himself is nowhere to be seen.

Axl doesn’t spend much time looking before he pushes through the front entrance and into the kitchen, making a beeline for the table of drinks. Before he can get there, though, a hand closes around his upper arm. “Axl!” someone yells into his ear. “What are you doing here, dude?”

He turns, catches sight of a crooked nose and a ratty head of braids covered in rainbow elastics. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” Axl asks.

Tommy’s happy grin is bordering on manic, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any iris left. “Oh, dunno. I just didn’t think you were coming,” the kid lifts his shoulders in a rapidfire shrug. “Y’know, cause of Duff.”

“What about Duff,” Axl says slowly, careful to avoid turning it into a question.

Tommy’s smile falters briefly. His eyes flick to the side. “Um, y’know. Just wasn’t sure. He’s— He’s doing his thing, dude. I think Nikki…” he trails off, fidgeting. “Well. Anyways, whatever! I’m glad you’re here, man. I haven’t seen you in forever, but I heard what happened with you and the nerd. If you ever wanna talk, come find me, okay? Doctor Lee is in the house, and he’s always got time to listen.”

Axl blinks, unimpressed. “Okay,” he says stiffly - mostly in an effort to placate the kid so that he’ll go away.

“It’s a real bummer,” Tommy babbles on obliviously. “You guys were great together, dude. Like… that was a real-deal whammy type of thing, y’know? You feel? I was rooting for you guys.” Axl begins unsubtly assessing his escape routes. “Duff was so hung up on you, man. I never thought he’d move on. He always seemed like such a little prude, but I guess now that—“

Axl decides he’s really not in favour of the direction this impromptu soliloquy is taking. “Cool, man,” he claps Tommy firmly on the shoulder, “Catch you later. I gotta go. Bye.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before making a hasty exit, shouldering his way through the crowd before the kid has the chance to start rambling about his chakras.

He admittedly feels a little on-edge, just by being here inside the house. It’s worse with no one to hang around - Steven originally implied that he was coming, but knowing him, he’ll probably show up at one in the morning, fuck some older girl in the first ten minutes and then call it a night. And the additional fact that apparently Duff is here—

Well.

Axl makes his way towards the living room at the back of the house, sliding through the little clusters of people gathered along the walls. He should have grabbed a drink while he had the chance.

The indie music intensifies as he slowly edges towards the source. The guitar seems to practically buzz in his eardrums, both drawing him in and niggling at his patience all at once, but he only has a split second to uneasily wonder where Duff could be before he’s struck dumb by the scene unfolding in the living room.

Turns out he doesn’t have to wonder where Duff is, after all. It’s basically impossible to miss him, really, with the way he’s all over Nikki, peroxide-blond head bobbing as their bodies move together.

Something inside Axl’s guts turns to stone. He’s frozen there, standing in the doorway like a statue, watching Duff pull the older boy closer and say something into his ear that has the latter’s red-painted lips curling into a predatory smirk. His movements are too loose to be remotely sober.

Axl sees Nikki laugh. Whatever the black-haired freak says back is lost under the swell of whatever song is playing. Axl still catches the way Duff’s eyebrows raise, sees his responding grin when Nikki’s hand slides around the small of his back and then lower, lower, and _Jesus Christ, where the fuck is Slash?_

Axl is vaguely aware that a few people are starting to side-eye him - no doubt itching to see the results of his infamous temper unfold - but he just stands there. He’s not sure if he’s shocked, or jealous, or just plain angry, but for whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to turn around and leave.

He casts a glance around, trying to pick out Izzy’s trademark hat amongst the rest of the hipsters, but it’s too crowded and—

“Axl! Hey, Axl!”

Even over the music, the jeer is impossible to miss. Axl’s gaze snaps back to Nikki, who has taken note of his presence and fixed him with a shit-eating grin. “See somethin’ you like?”

Axl’s responding glare is mutinous. Duff looks up from where his face has been pressed into Nikki’s jaw, eyes coming to rest on Axl, but they’re glassy and unfocused. He frowns, lips parting in something that might be a name. Nikki just pats him on the hip and murmurs something else in his ear. After a second, Duff nods, bearing a frightening resemblance to a bobblehead as he peels himself away, only stumbling a little as he makes an exit from the room.

Axl moves closer to be heard, never taking his eyes off Nikki. “What d’you think you’re doing,” he says, keeping his tone steely and devoid of inflection.

Nikki’s responding smile is blithe. “I think a better question might be ‘who’.”

For a second, Axl just stares at him, and then something clicks. He steps forward in two quick strides and shoves Nikki, hard enough that he stumbles backwards, arms flailing to right himself.

The delighted expression never leaves the stupid bastard’s face. “I think someone’s jealous,” Nikki taunts him. “Didn’t anyone tell you that sharing is caring?”

Axl’s lip curls as he jabs a hostile finger into Nikki’s chest. “You keep your filthy fuckin’ hands off’a him,” he snarls.

To his credit, Nikki just smirks and raises his hands in a lazy gesture of surrender. “My sincerest apologies, man. I didn’t know you were staking claims on things that don’t belong to you.”

Axl’s jaw clenches, left fist curling at his side. “He certainly doesn’t belong to you, either,” he spits, grabbing Nikki by the lapels of his leather jacket and getting right up into his smug face. “Fuck you, Feranna.”

Something dark flashes in Nikki’s eyes. The two of them stand there for a moment, close enough to smell the hairspray and sweat. Neither dares to make the first move - Axl wants to hit him, badly, feels the urge to bring his fist up and make the stupid asshole pay for touching Duff, but he doesn’t.

Instead, Axl releases Nikki with a final, hard shove and a bitter glare, ignoring the people staring as he storms out of the room.

He runs into Tommy again in the kitchen, and the kid takes one look at him before silently pointing towards the back door leading to the porch. Axl gives him a curd nods and steps outside into the cold.

Duff isn’t hard to find - he’s sitting alone on the edge of the deck, a ratty curtain of bleached hair falling over his face, almost glowing in the harsh porch light. Something inside Axl’s chest seems to squeeze and tighten as he approaches, halting a scarce foot away.

Duff has acquired a jacket at some point - Axl assumes the giant denim and plaid-patched monstrosity draped over his slumped shoulders belongs to Izzy - but his hands are bare in the chill of the night and his breath makes faint clouds under the sparse light from the porch.

“Go ‘way, Saul,” he hears Duff mumble, swaying slightly even as he sits. “Don’t— I don’t wanna talk.”

Axl shifts on his feet, looking around. Other than the two kids off smoking in the corner, they’re the only ones out here. “I don’t— I just need to know you’re okay,” he finally says.

At the sound of his voice, Duff turns to look at him in surprise. For the first time in weeks, the callous façade has dropped, and now he looks so small and vulnerable that it almost hurts. “Axl?” he says, softly.

Axl hardly recognizes his own voice when he nods and says, “Yeah, sugar. I’m here.”

Duff just blinks at him for a second, slightly unfocused, then slowly turns back around. His words sound hollow when he says, “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Izz didn’t tell me you’d be here,” Axl responds honestly. “I probably wouldn’t’ve showed up if I’d known.”

Duff huffs the ghost of a humourless chuckle. “That’s pretty fucking pathetic,” he remarks, only slurring a little. There’s a pause before he wipes his nose on the sleeve of his jacket and says, “What the fuck are we doing, Axl? Why— What are we even doing anymore?”

His words seem to hang in the air as Axl looks down at his boots. A month or two ago, he might have had some semblance of an answer. But now— “I don’t know, Duffy.”

“You’re a real shithead, y’know that?” Duff remarks, except he doesn’t sound angry or confident anymore; he just sounds wasted and miserable. “You’re an asshole, and a punk, and… and you’re mean.”

Axl doesn’t say anything. The hollow feeling inside his chest tells him there’s no use defending himself against the truth.

Duff goes quiet for a moment. “I jus’ wanted you to like me,” he finally continues. “I wanted you to— to want me like those people do.”

Axl’s gaze hardens despise himself. “People like Nikki?” he asks flatly, making no effort to conceal his rancor.

Duff sniffles again. “‘Least he wanted me,” he laughs. It’s a sharp, bitter sound, entirely devoid of humour.

“He didn’t want you, he just wanted to fuck you,” Axl says coldly. “Feranna’s a real piece of shit.”

Duff turns his head and fixes him with a blank look. “And you’re not?”

“At least I’m not the one turning you into a goddamn party trick,” Axl snaps, the hostility beginning to bubble and foam inside of him. “Fuck, d’you really think any of these people actually care about you?” he demands, something like revulsion spilling out. His voice is rising, but he can’t stop himself; not now, not with all these emotions roiling within, not when Duff is sitting right here in front of him. “You think they actually love you, or know you, or want what’s best for you?” he scoffs. “D’you really think they see anything other than this mess you’re making out of yourself?”

He clenches his jaw, the words hanging heavy in the silence between them. Too late, he registers the hurt on Duff’s face, naked and raw as a result of inebriation.

“Stop,” Duff finally manages, sounding choked and breathless. “Just because you didn’t want me doesn’t mean—...“ he cuts himself off. He swallows, eyes closing for a second as a weird expression flickers over his face. “Think ‘m gonna be sick,” he slurs, and then leans forward and vomits on the grass between his feet.

Axl blinks at him, momentarily taken aback, and the anger dissipates as quickly as it came. He’s at Duff’s side like a reflex, moving to crouch down and rub his back before he can even stop to think about the line in the sand between them.

Duff gags a little more, coughing and shaking, then spits on the ground and clumsily wipes his mouth. “Sorry,” he says. “‘M’ sorry.”

His back is warm beneath Axl’s hand, but he’s shivering, hands pale in his lap. Axl hikes the coat up higher around his shoulders where it’s falling down, reaches an arm around to keep him from slumping over.

“Sorry,” Duff repeats, hardly more than a garbled mumble. “I didn’—… I didn’t want this.” He looks at Axl, then, dark eyes glinting like lonely stars from beneath the peroxide tangles of his hair. “I don’t even know what ’m doing,” he says, and then he’s laughing hysterically, shoulders shaking.

Axl just watches him, the helplessness practically crawling on his skin.

He can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t Duff. This person in front of him isn’t _his_ Duff, his Michael; this isn’t the boy who used to invite him on study dates and secret meetings in the forest, who blushed and fumbled and smiled and said vodka tasted gross.

Axl finds himself talking in short, meaningless little words. He’s angry - at Nikki, at Duff, at Slash, at himself - but all he can do here is sit and rub circles between Duff’s shoulder blades as the spasmodic giggles taper off, offering comfort that isn’t his to give.

“I’m tired,” Duff finally breaks the quiet, smile fading. “I’m jus’… I’m tired, Axl.”

“Me too.”

“I wanna go home.”

“I’ll find Izzy,” Axl hears himself say, moving to stand.

“No,” Duff shakes his head, wiping his nose. “No, don’—don’t leave, not again. Jus’ stay for a second.”

Axl pauses, halfway to his feet. From inside the house, there’s a faint crash, followed by a cheer. “Jesus,” he exhales, looking around uncomfortably. The smokers have retreated back inside at some point, making them the only ones remaining out here. “Where’s that shitstick poodle you been hangin’ around with, anyways?”

“Saul?” Duff takes a second to frown. “He’s… Dunno. Upstairs, maybe.”

Another beat passes. Axl finds himself sitting back down - a resignation of sorts, really, even though everything he knows is screaming at him to turn tail and run.

He can feel the warmth of Duff’s thigh beside his own, seeping through his jeans, but it’s not right. It’s not like it was. It’s not a Saturday afternoon and they’re not sitting on the hood of Axl’s car, drinking soda under the August sun, stealing chaste kisses every so often because it’s fun to watch Duff grin and duck his head as his cheeks flush vivid pink—

_Stop it._

Axl swallows hard, blinking away the memory.

Beside him, Duff shifts and sways a little. For a second Axl thinks he’s going to be sick again, but instead he just sighs and slumps over into Axl’s side, their shoulders nudging up against each other.

He’s warm. He smells like sweat and beer and vomit, too, but most of all he’s warm and a little heavy and Christ, Axl hates the way they still fit together even in the midst of this mess they’ve made.

He should say something, maybe. Something like ‘ _you’ve got a boyfriend_ ’ or ‘ _I should go_ ’ or ‘ _I’ll find you a ride home_ ’, but he doesn’t. The only things running through his head right now are useless apologies.

They sit there together without talking, neither of them moving despite the cold seeping into their muscles. Around five minutes pass before Duff speaks again.

“I miss you,” he says plainly, words sloppy around the edges. “God, isn’ that so fuckin’ stupid? It’s been so long an’ I still jus’ miss you so _bad_ sometimes. I miss th’ way you used to— used to touch me.”

Axl can’t meet those big brown eyes, red-rimmed and glassy. He swallows, hating the way his voice wavers when he replies, “Don’t. Don’t say that shit.”

“Why not?” Duff counters, listless. “It’s fuckin’ true. I miss you, and I’m sad, and I’m alone, and— and it sucks.”

“You have Slash,” Axl says, a breath too late and feeling the words like glass in his throat even as they fall from his mouth. “You’re not alone, you have— He’ll be there for you. He loves you. Better ‘n I can, probably.”

Duff is shaking his head before Axl even finishes talking. “Never.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“He loves me,” Duff finally mumbles, quiet and miserable, “but he’ll never be in love with me.”

 

+

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and if you liked this, keep an eye out for further instalments in the series! we’ve got big things coming 👀  
> feel free to come say hi to me on tumblr @[shotgunmessiahs](http://shotgunmessiahs.tumblr.com)  
> or nat @[loveislikeabomb](http://loveislikeabomb.tumblr.com) !


End file.
